Don't Mess It Up, Girl!
by outtabreath
Summary: Nyota, with a little help from Gaila and Dr. Flenderson, navigates her shiny new relationship with Spock. Sequel to two fics with very long titles. Mild M in later chapters.
1. Welcoming Party

We all know Star Trek and the characters contained therein don't belong to me. They never have, they never will. There will be some mild smut in later chapters. If you don't like that sort of thing, don't get attached to this story.

As always and forever, thanks to my friend and Beta, miss steph. She is the person who converts my blathering into readable English.

Note: In my RomCom version of _Star Trek_, T'Pring severed her bond with Spock when he moved to Earth – so he isn't a big fat, amoral cheater; Spock is above all that!

~**Part One of Eight:** _Welcoming Party_~

"Nyota!"

I didn't turn fast enough or brace myself firmly enough, and Gaila's enthusiastic greeting – I'd swear she'd jumped off a bench onto me – threatened to flatten me. It did serve to send me staggering back into Boris.

"Ouch!" he yelped dramatically, whimpering loudly. "You broke my foot!"

Attendant Morris had been on our shuttle again, and he'd been terrified into silence for the last three hours – he needed some sort of release.

"Your foot isn't broken, Boris," I noted, spitting wild red hair out of my mouth.

"I'm so happy you're home," Gaila said to me, ignoring Boris and squeezing me so hard I was sure I'd end up with at least one broken rib.

She really was freakishly strong.

"We have so _much_ to talk about," she whispered into my ear before releasing my aching waist.

Ignoring Boris's plight, even though he was hopping around on one foot and glaring at her, she waved cheerily at my teammates and said, "Hey, everybody, you did good."

There were murmured thanks from everybody but Boris; he continued glowering and rubbing his foot.

"I'm not that heavy," I hissed leaning closer to him.

"You are when an Orion is attached to you," he replied as he continued to act as if he'd been grievously injured.

I shook my head and looked at the rest of the Squad for support. Et'Bet and Jenka were too busy cooing to each other to notice that I needed their help; Niobe had wandered over to a bench and was scanning her PADD. I sighed. Guess my tenure as their fearless leader really was over.

Preparation for the Invitational had consumed almost all of my free time for eighteen months.

_Whatever will I find to do now?_

Guess it's finally time for that independent study of Vulcan physiology; a very thorough independent study of Vulcan physiology.

_Starting with the Vulcan response to flavored oils._

Then I heard three words that ended my pleasant reverie, turned my blood cold and sent me spinning back to Gaila.

"Oh, hi, Commander."

_Oh God._

She was standing very straight, grinning up at the subject of my research.

My very own tall, lean, utterly gorgeous hunk of Vulcan perfection was standing on the edge of our little group and was regarding her the same way he usually did Boris.

She smiled bigger, her teeth very white against her bright red lips. "How was Oxford? Did you have _fun_?"

_I'm going to kill her._

_Slowly, methodically, painfully._

Spock remained unfazed and unruffled. "The trip was most successful. The team preformed admirably."

"So I heard," she said, smiling indecently.

I took a step towards her with dire intent in mind when, out of nowhere, a small crowd surrounded me. I heard Boris' excited voice and Niobe laughing; the rest of the Idiot Squad's friends had come to welcome us home.

I couldn't see Spock or Gaila, and I was worried.

I didn't _really_ want to kill her.

Maim, perhaps; not kill.

I pushed my way through the throng to find Gaila bouncing on her toes and smirking at Spock; he was standing ram-rod straight and pointedly not looking at her.

I wrested her away to the corner of the pad before she said something I really would have to kill her for.

"Are you nuts?" I hissed at her. "There are people here - people with ears and brains."

"Pwah," she responded, completely unconcerned. "No one would believe that you and the Commander did what you say you did; quite frankly, I don't really believe it myself. I'm going to need details - lots and lots of details."

_I wish I'd made Spock teach me the Vulcan Nerve Pinch._

"You're getting _sparse_ details when we're back in our room," I said.

She started humming.

It was the music from _The Green Penis Song_.

"_Gaila_!"

"Jeesh, you're the only person I know who's crankier _after_ they have sex then they were before."

_Would it be too much to ask for a small meteor to drop onto her head and render her unconscious for the next twenty minutes?_

_Would it?_

There was a murmuring rush that caught my attention and diverted me from the happy picture of Gaila lying unconscious on the cement, a fiery piece of rock burning merrily beside her.

Seven people were walking onto the pad and heading towards Spock.

_Holy crap._

The Academy commandant and almost half of the Academy Council were on the shuttle pad, their dark uniforms a stark contrast with the cadets' bright reds.

Gaila stopped humming in mid-note; the Idiot Squad and their friends stopped talking; Boris had dropped his foot and he looked terrified.

It was seeing Boris, the Human hummingbird, standing frozen with wide eyes and open mouth, that started panic – glaring white and shaky – building in my stomach.

Everybody began to straighten their uniforms and their postures, everybody except for the Admirals, Spock, and me: The Admirals, of course, because it was their presence that was causing the panic; Spock because his uniform was already impeccable and postures didn't get more rigid than his; me because I was trying very valiantly not to pass out.

Desperately, I looked at Spock; his eyes met mine, and his eyebrow twitched infinitesimally before he turned to address the Admirals, completely calm and utterly collected. A wave of admiration and affection washed over me.

_He's amazing._ _He's incredible. He's good at _everything, _especially when he's naked and hovering over me, his eyes focused raptly on my body as he slides forward and ent…._

"Stop staring," Gaila hissed into my ear.

_Oh God! I just had a fantasy about Spock and me having sex while I'm standing in front of seven Admirals! _

"Nyota, stop it!" she continued, her breath hot against my ear.

_Oh God! I just thought about the fantasy I was having about Spock and me having sex while I'm standing in front of seven Admirals._

Gaila stepped on my foot. I blinked and focused on Admiral Barnett, who was rapidly approaching me with Spock and his colleagues trailing in his wake.

The non-Squad members all pushed away from our little group; Gaila took a step closer to me. I stood at attention; I was vaguely aware of her doing the same.

And then Admiral Barnett was standing very close to me. I could see myself reflected in his brown eyes. "Cadet Uhura," he said.

"Good morning, Admiral Barnett," I said, my voice steady; my legs were another matter entirely.

"You, of course, know my colleagues." He indicated the rest of his companions.

"Of course, Sir. Good morning Admiral Tau, Admiral Erikson, Admiral Tobias, Admiral Lo'rax, Admiral Stefanus, Admiral Jennings," I said, nodding at each of the Council members in turn.

_Thank God Gaila and I studied up on them._

I took deep, measured breaths. I was not going to embarrass myself. Or my team.

Or Spock.

_I am a _confident_, intelligent, professional woman._

"Congratulations. You and your team did a fine job of upholding the honor of Starfleet Academy," Admiral Barnett said, obviously speaking for his colleagues; he thrust his hand out.

"Thank you, Admiral," I said, grasping his broad hand in mine. He had a very firm handshake.

He released my hand and nodded sharply at me. "I look forward to following your career. I have no doubt that you will continue to be a credit to the Academy."

"Thank you, Admiral, of course. I look forward to contributing in some small part to the humanitarian and peace-keeping mission of Starfleet."

Gaila sniffed next to me.

No one else heard her.

I had become very attuned to Gaila's sniffs over the last two years.

Admiral Barnett looked slightly taken aback. "Well, yes. Much appreciated." He stepped away from me, and the other Admirals approached, each shaking my hand in turn. They all had strong and hearty grips; I idly wondered if I should start practicing my handshake technique.

I felt a little dazed and woozy. I looked at Spock without thinking; he was staring at me fixedly; when he caught my eyes he looked towards the rest of the Squad. I blinked and caught on.

"May I introduce my team?" I motioned towards each of my teammates, naming them. The Admirals shook their hands and offered their congratulations.

"Breathe," Gaila whispered.

I did, the painful rush of oxygen indicating that I'd been holding my breath.

I glanced at Spock. He was looking at me. I smiled at him; he nodded his head in response, then turned his attention to the rest of our group.

_I could write that Spock-to-Human dictionary tomorrow – and it'd be a bestseller._

Admiral Barnett turned back to Spock and me. "Again, fine work Commander, Cadets." He swept his gaze around the pad. The assembled cadets dropped their heads, looking anywhere but at him and his colleagues. He sniffed audibly then marched off the dock, the other Admirals following behind him.

"Wow! The Commandant and six Admirals, Nyota. This Invitational thing really is a big deal," Gaila said, almost immediately reverting to her normal state: Unrestrained.

I sighed; she grinned back at me then turned her attention to Spock.

"So, Commander, what'd _you_ do in Oxford? See any interesting sites?"

I pinched her ruthlessly.

Spock blinked at her then looked at me. "Cadets, I will take my leave."

"Thank you, Commander. I appreciate all of your assistance in preparing me for the Invitational," I said, smiling at him gently.

_I am a _professional_, confident, intelligent woman._

He looked at me, his eyes flat, his face placid, and nodded, "You acquitted yourself well, Cadet Uhura."

_You know it!_

He turned to my roommate, said, "Good day, Cadet Gaila," and strode off into the eddying crowd; the rest of the cadets were rapidly leaving the pad – no doubt realizing that they had been caught skipping classes.

"It will be, Commander!" she called after him, "For all of us!"

I whimpered as I picked up my suitcase, "Do you want me to have a nervous breakdown?"

"Not really, I wouldn't want to break in another roommate." she said, gazing after him, her head tipped to the side appraisingly; a jet of jealousy erupted in me, shocking me.

In my defense, she _was _looking at his ass for far too long.

Even though it really was a thing of beauty – meant to be admired at all times.

Just not by anyone who wasn't me.

She turned back towards me, whipping more hair into my mouth and waking me from my Spock-induced stupor. "Are you _sure_ you slept with him?" she asked quietly. "'Cause neither of you are acting any different."

I thought about liquid brown-black eyes, hot and hard hands, a pale green body undulating above mine, humid kisses, thrusting movements that led to communion with the Universe.

The ripped dress currently balled up at the bottom of my suitcase.

"Very sure," I murmured, starting to walk in the direction Spock had taken.


	2. Back Home

I left out of the A/N in Part One that this story in the sequel to _How to Get the Vulcan You Want in Six Easy Steps _and _What would Doctor Flenderson Do?_ If you haven't read them, please do. This story _should_ much more sense once you do.

Thanks to JAGNikJen for pointing out that it is the Vulcan _Nerve_, not Neck, Pinch; Nyota was in the midst of a crisis and wasn't thinking straight; I was lazy and didn't look it up.

Thanks also to miss steph, T'Leba, Tales From the Spock Side and Dr. Spleenmeister for their input and help with this chapter and all of the ones that follow.

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.**

~**Part Two of Eight:** _Back Home~_

I threw my suitcase on the floor and myself on the bed.

Gaila sniffed; she hated things to be out of place.

"I'll get to that in a minute," I said, settling my PADD on my lap and going to the book-buying site where my fingers had bought _How to Get the Man You Want in Six Easy Steps_.

"What on frozen Andoria could you be studying right now? You just had fifteen…."

"Seven."

"…Admirals come and shake your hand; you don't need to ever study again." She was staring at the suitcase as if its presence on the floor was hurting her.

"I most certainly need to study," I corrected her. "Learning new things is crucial for our development as future Starfleet officers."

The list of Flenderson books was pretty long; the one I needed was about halfway down. I pushed "buy" and smiled as the computer thanked me for my purchase; the book opened up.

"Like learning new things about Vulcans?" she asked; she was tapping her foot and her hands were clenched at her sides.

_You can do it, Gaila._

"Like learning how to not make mistakes in my relationship with a certain Vulcan."

"Oooo. _Don't Mess It Up, Girl!_ That's a good one!" she said, dropping to the floor and beginning to unpack for me. She'd lasted almost three whole minutes. It was a new record.

"How did you know which book I just bought?"

"Uhm, I'm the Flenderson expert, remember?" She pulled out my hair products and began to arrange them on their shelf.

"Have you read all of her books?" I'd counted at least fifteen; that was a lot of time and a lot of credits.

"A fair number of 'em," she said, lining up the bottles in order of height, making sure the labels were facing out to the room. "I have the rest waiting for me to read."

"Did you _buy_ all of them?" I questioned, pretty sure I knew the answer.

"'Buy' is such an_ ugly_ word, Nyota," she replied, arranging my hairbrush next to the bottles. "As a free Orion, the concept of buying something is repugnant – it triggers neuroses about my being bought and sold."

I rolled my eyes.

She knelt back down on the floor. "Besides, why would I need to buy the books when I can just break the site security and download them? As you point out all the time, Dr. Flenderson is dead – it's not like I'm stealing from _her_. I like her. I'd never steal from her."

I shook my head ruefully. "You're very moral, Gaila."

"In my own way," she said, smiling brightly. She started to retrieve the shoes from the case. Lining them up would occupy her for a while.

I scanned the foreword. "Hey," I said, "she married someone she worked with."

Gaila said, "I told you that."

"No, you didn't."

"I did. You never listen to me."

"I listen to you all the time."

"Pwah! No, you do _not_. I told you that she married a man whom she worked with and who was both older than her _and_ emotionally limited. I said, 'Wow, Nyota. It's like you and she were separated at birth.' And you said, 'and by 250 years.' And I said, 'and a cultural divide the size of the Grand Canyon,' and you said…."

"We did not have that conversation," I pointed out. "Just like I never told Spock that he would be mine before throwing him down on the desk…"

"And mounting him," she interjected helpfully.

"And just like you didn't really perform an Argellian belly dance for Lieutenant Commander Longo after you passed Introduction to Engineering last year."

"I _did _do a belly dance for Longo last year; the man needed some reward for putting up with me for close to a year. I hate warp drives. _Hate them_, Nyota."

"I recall you mentioning that fact a couple – _of thousand_ – times," I said, continuing to read.

"Do you want to see a holo?"

"Of what?"

"Dr. Flenderson and her husband, silly."

"How was I supposed to know that, Gaila? It could've been you and Longo belly dancing."

She giggled. "I didn't take pictures of _that_."

_For which I will be eternally grateful._

"Sure."

She grabbed her own PADD and scrolled for several seconds before she handed it to me.

It was a standard Twenty-first Century wedding photo: The woman drowning in white and lace and tulle; the man in black and white with a ridiculous tie.

Dr. Flenderson was as pretty and warm-eyed as she'd been on horseback on Dream Vulcan. The man next to her, however…I scrunched up my eyes. He was pale, with sandy-colored hair; he was smiling hugely but his eyes….I looked at them for a long time before I was able to label the play of emotions in them. It was as if they were remembering to smile; there was a tinge of sadness to them that, despite the woman next to him, was still not entirely erased.

I scanned forward. The next holo – how many had Gaila downloaded? – was at least two decades later: His sandy hair was laced with gray, and she had lines around her eyes. She appeared to be laughing. He was smiling and his eyes were sparkling; the sadness of the earlier picture was gone.

Obviously Kelly Flenderson, Psy.D., didn't just work miracles for Starfleet cadets and their Vulcan commanders; she had worked them for her husband, too.

I took a deep breath.

_If I pay attention to her, Spock and I are going to be just fine._

"What. Did. You. DO?" Gaila demanded.

"What?" I shot back before looking at her properly; I was still transfixed by the smile in Dr. Flenderson's husband's eyes.

_Oh._

"Yeah…well…."

She held up her hand, the same hand that was clutched around a piece of shredded navy-colored cloth that had once been a dress. "Computer, time?" she queried.

I blinked stupidly at her as the computer answered, "1002 hours."

She took a deep and shaky breath; I watched her cautiously.

"Nyota Uhura, I wish it to be known far and wide that today, Monday, May 9, 2265 at 1002 hours, you have utterly impressed me. Nothing that you have done and nothing that you will ever do will make me more proud of you than I am at this very moment in time." She pretended to wipe a tear from her left eye.

"You're going to write a song about this, aren't you?"

"Nyota, I'm going to write an _opera_ about this. Now," she placed the dress reverently in her lap, "I want details about how my dress suffered its grievous injuries."

I shifted uncomfortably; I didn't like discussing sex, and I definitely wasn't going to enjoy discussing Spock and me having sex.

Even though I had vastly enjoyed the sex itself.

I took a deep breath and met her sparkling eyes. "Remember how you said he was going to have a heart attack when he saw that dress?

She nodded her head vigorously.

"It wasn't exactly a heart attack."

She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on my face.

"I broke through his Vulcan control."

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she squealed. "You did it, Nyota! You are the first woman in history to make a Vulcan show an emotion."

"Uh, it wasn't an emotion, and I am not the first woman in history to make a Vulcan do anything; besides, he's only _half_-Vulcan."

She didn't respond to me; instead, she got to her knees, moved over to me and rested her hands on my knees. "I can teach you nothing else. You have surpassed the master."

"And you're the master?"

"Of course."

"Just checking."

"You need to write a book and dedicate it to me and Dr. Flenderson. And Spock, of course."

_Of course._

"And you don't think Spock would have a problem with that?"

"He'll never need to know."

"You don't think he'll notice that people are following me everywhere, begging for my autograph and advice?"

"He'll think it's because of the Oxford thing."

"Uh, no, he won't because Spock has a brain," I pointed out.

"And ears," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

"The ears are definitely an asset," I grinned.

"And those ears – and the rest of him – are now yours." She dropped back to her heels. "Do you understand the importance of what you have accomplished, Young Nyota? You have captured the rare and skittish Vulcan Heart."

_I kind of did, didn't I?_

I smiled bashfully.

Maybe I _could_ write a short book about getting the Vulcan you want.

I could submit it anonymously.


	3. Chess Match

Many thanks to the fabulous T'Leba for reviewing this chapter and correcting my (numerous) errors about the chess game; quite frankly, chess makes my head hurt and it was a boon to have someone who knew what they were actually talking about take the time to help me with this.

I'd also like to thank miss steph and T'Leba for helping me with the English and bluehorserunning for helping with the Vulcan. Grammar – Vulcan _and_ English - also makes my head hurt.

The words Spock uses to describe Nyota are paraphrased from _Star Trek_ by Alan Dean Foster, © 2009, Pocket Books. No copyright infringement is intended and I make no profit from the use of the descriptive passage.

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.**

~**Part Three of Eight:** _Chess Match_~

Since we tend to fall into patterns quickly and easily, you need to establish the rules early in the relationship. Be open with how you feel and what you need; listen to him about the same things. Don't try to please him at the expense of your own thoughts and feelings, and don't let him do that either.

_____________­­­­_____________________________________________________

"I thought you and the Commander had a date tonight," Gaila demanded, standing in the doorway of our room, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing as she looked me over.

_Damn it!_

I'd almost made it out without her trying to tramp me up.

"And I thought you were going to be in the computer lab until at least 2100 hours."

"Guess we were both wrong," she said pointedly.

"Uh, I do have a date – well, an _interaction_ – with Spock tonight."

"So why are you dressed like you're going to the gym?"

I peered down at my outfit. It definitely was not workout attire. It was a perfectly acceptable pair of linen pants and a lacy button-down top; it was not a t-shirt stolen from my brother and three sizes too big and cotton pants with holes in them stolen from my sister.

"I look fine, Gaila."

"Of course you do," she said briskly. "You always look _fine_, even when you don't, but this is your first date…."

"Interaction," I said.

"Since you guys got back," she continued, not even acknowledging that I'd interrupted her. "At least wear your hair down."

My hand went automatically to the pony tail.

"And put some make-up on."

"Uh-uh!" I said, "I'm not going over there to seduce him. I'm going there to spend time with him. You know, talking."

And, I fervently hoped, possibly having some sweaty sex.

Okay. _Lots_ of sweaty sex.

After the talking.

All five minutes of it.

"Nyota, Nyota, Nyota, Nyota Uhura," she said, shaking her head and walking to stand toe-to-toe with me and resting her hands on my shoulders. "You can't start letting yourself go a week into the relationship. You'd break Dr. Flenderson's heart."

I brought my hands up between hers and put my hands on _her_ shoulders, "Dr. Flenderson is dead, Gaila."

Except for when she joins me for some horseback riding on Vulcan.

"Like that matters, Ny. According to Earth tradition, that just means she's up in the sky sitting on a cloud, looking down at you and shaking her head ruefully as you cheerfully destroy all of our hard work."

Or she was riding pale horses with happy-sad eyes on Vulcan while administering relationship advice and suggesting that I buy another one of her books.

"I'm not destroying my hard work," I said. I was _not _going to discuss the whole horseback thing.

"I was talking about Dr. Flenderson's and my hard work, and you most certainly are."

"Because I didn't do any hard work?"

She shook her head slowly and stepped back. "The majority of the work was Dr. Flenderson's and mine. If you would've had your way, you'd have toured cathedrals or monasteries…"

"There aren't any monasteries in England. How do you even _know_ about monasteries?"

She ignored me, "Or something equally boring and pointless while you were in England, and you'd be looking at a weekend of eating sweets and reading your damn schoolbooks instead of a weekend full of_ being_ eate…."

I covered my ears. I could see her lips moving and her head shaking. "Fine," I said, anything to get her to stop talking. "I have ten minutes. What can you do to my hair in ten minutes?"

She clapped and smiled; I uncovered my ears. "I can make _miracles_ in ten minutes, Nyota. I promise." She pointed at the chair and began moving quickly. "Take out that damned ponytail."

I obliged and sat down in the chair; the same chair I'd sat in while she prepared me for Steps One and Two.

What a difference a week, several Slusho Mixes and six steps can make.

"You're sure about the outfit?" she questioned as she dug pins into my scalp.

"Very sure and stop it, you're poking my brain, Gaila."

"Your skull protects your brain," she pointed out.

"Not when you're pushing metal into it."

"Stop being a baby." She paused, and I tensed. Gaila pausing was never a good thing. "So, what do you and the Commander have planned for the evening – you know, besides _talking?_"

"I don't know. He's in charge of the plans."

Her fingers stopped their torture.

"What?" I demanded.

"Should you really leave the date night planning up to a Vulcan, Ny? You could end up in the computer lab reprogramming the _Kobayashi Maru_."

"We will not, Gaila. He's actually kind of good at the romance stuff."

She sniffed.

"Well, not Human romance or Orion romance – is there such a thing as Orion _romance_? – but Vulcan romance. He can bring it when he wants to."

"Yes, there is such a thing as Orion romance," she said, poking me. "Vulcan romance, however…." She poked me again.

I blinked back tears as she continued, "Don't be disappointed if the evening consists of eating bland Vulcan food….."

"We ate already. He had some department dinner, and I went to dinner with Et'Bet and Jenka."

"_Not_ eating bland food of any type, debating Klingon battle strategies, and coming home unfulfilled."

"I won't be unfulfilled," I said.

"No, of course not, because you'll be _talking_ and, _Oekon _knows, you do love to _talk_."

"Fine," I conceded. "There will be talking followed by very fulfilling sex."

She clapped my shoulders. "I'm happy we had this little discussion. You're done. Unless…. Can I just _show_ you a dress?"

"No." I said. "I don't have the money to keep replacing them." I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.

She really was a miracle worker.

She smiled at me. "Have fun _talking_, Nyota."

"I will," I said, almost skipping out the door.

_Lots and lots and lots of sweaty sex._

I was happy and hopeful as I rang his chime, collected and composed as I entered his quarters, and stymied and shocked when I walked in.

He looked amazing, delectable and edible in loose black pants and a rust colored top that should've looked ridiculous but was the absolute opposite.

He looked amazing, delectable and edible as he stood next to his dining table upon which were a pitcher, two glasses and a three-dimensional chessboard.

I blinked.

Nope. Not a hallucination.

We hadn't been together for four days, and he'd decided that our date night should be spent playing chess.

"Good evening, Nyota."

"Good evening, Spock."

_Have you lost your Vulcan mind? Why aren't you naked and holding a bowl of tapioca pudding? Why am I walking to the table and sitting down? Why aren't I saying anything? Have I lost my mind?_

"I recalled that you enjoyed this game," he said.

_How about my response to sex with you? Do you recall that? I really enjoy that!_

"My grandfather was an International Master," I said, watching numbly as he poured two glasses of electric blue _kaasa_ juice and sat down. I folded myself into the chair opposite of his.

_Always borrow clothes from Gaila. Always, always, always._

"I have set up the board. You will play white, and I will play black; is that acceptable?" he asked.

_No, it is not acceptable. I don't want to play chess. I want to play hide the green salami. _

_I can't believe I'm thinking like Gaila._

"Sure," I murmured, biting back a sigh and a complaint.

He inclined his head towards the board.

_Oh yeah, white goes first._

I opened with my queen-side knight, the beginning of the Andorian-Leba Gambit.

His lips quirked up. "That is an unusual move."

"My _babu_ taught me lots and lots of tricks," I said, trying not to sound defensive.

Or disappointed.

_Dating is not just about sex, it's about getting to know someone better._

And, obviously, playing three-dimensional chess.

"I look forward to hearing about them," he said, making his reply to my gambit.

_We're not only going to play chess, we're going to have to _talk_ about it, too?_

_Always heed Gaila's advice. Always, always, always._

I studied his reply and decided to continue along with the Andorian Gambit; it was one that my grandfather had used numerous times – numerous times when he'd won tournaments.

Spock took a bit longer to reply after my fourth move; I responded with a move my grandfather had surprised me with once, one I never really learned how to counter properly.

Spock's eyebrows went up.

"I did warn you that I had tricks," I said, grinning saucily.

"Indeed," he murmured, gazing steadily at the board. After almost a minute he moved a pawn; I pounced immediately and captured it, spinning the black piece in my fingers before dropping it to the table.

"Sacrifice is necessary," he said musingly, moving a bishop.

I watched the move, computing counter moves quickly, channeling my _babu_, hearing his resonant baritone as he guided me through the game. I moved my knight up a level and leaned back.

After several moves, he flicked a pawn down a level and said, "Cadet Gaila is aware of our relationship, is she not?"

My hand jerked out and hit the pawn I'd captured, spinning it across the table until it bounced against his glass; he raised an eyebrow at me.

Damn Spock eyebrow. Damn Vulcan powers of observation. Damn Orion big-mouth.

I took a deep breath and hoped that my answer wouldn't lead to being thrown out of his quarters.

Etcetera.

"Yes," I said, leaning across the table to retrieve the pawn while carefully not looking at him.

_I don't want to see his face as he tells me he doesn't approve._

"I see. I do not have someone with whom I share a close enough association to discuss such matters. I trust you implicitly and know that you would not confide in someone undeserving of your confidence."

I looked up at him. He met my gaze implacably. "Nyota, it is your move."

Translated that means he's okay that she knows because he knows that I'll kill her if she breathes a word to anyone.

I moved a pawn; he captured it three moves later and removed it from the board, his fingers tightening against the piece as he moved it to the table.

I found myself staring at his fingers, remembering how good it felt to have them sliding over my skin.

It was suddenly very hot in the room, and my body felt heavy and languid.

"Nyota?" he asked.

I blinked and analyzed the game, blocking out his presence – his soft hair, his depthless eyes, his addictive scent, his succulent skin, his incredible mouth, his taut body….

_Damn it!_

_Pull it together, Nyota. You are not ruled by your hormones._

Not entirely.

I narrowed my eyes and moved my bishop to a lower level.

He countered with a move that left the bishop in danger; I moved a knight.

_Sacrifice is necessary._

He studied the board for several minutes. I sipped my juice and tried not to smirk.

"Your grandfather taught you well."

"Yes, he did," I said, finally giving in and smirking.

"So did mine," he said quietly, castling his king, and I realized that I was going to have to change tactics.

I was a good chess player; Spock was exceptional. He was almost as good as my grandfather and better than anyone else I'd ever played or thought about playing.

_I'm in way over my head._

I glanced at him. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin, his eyes trained on me.

I shifted in my seat and stared at the board.

_Seven levels of three-dimensional chess and seven levels of Hell._

_How fitting._

In several more moves, my queen was in danger, and I had to do something fast. I tried the Morovian Exchange, and he countered with the Wine Formation.

_Okay, _Babu_, a little help would be great._

I moved a rook horizontally; he studied the board carefully. "Most fascinating."

"I'm very unexpected," I said, grinning at him.

"Indeed," he said, moving his king, then tipping his head up so he could look me directly in the eyes.

_Damn it!_

I was stuck three moves later. There was no way I could save that rook. I moved a bishop, and he captured the rook.

I wasn't going to let him beat me.

I could win this as long as he wasn't paying close attention to the game.

I bit my lip.

He paid close attention to everything.

I was going down.

_So to speak._

I moved a pawn, and he took it. I moved a knight, and a bishop was on the table.

_Not good, not good, so very not good._

_Chess is a game of strategy, and it's time to change mine. _

If I was going down, I was going to go down fighting.

I unbuttoned the top three buttons on my shirt.

His eyes hardened as he saw the bit of skin I'd exposed. "Nyota, are you too warm?"

"Just a bit," I said, leaning forward, "but I'll be fine."

He took a deep breath and looked at my chest for several seconds before tearing his eyes away and looking back at the board. "I believe that it is your move."

"Yep," I said, leaning forward and trying to figure out how to gain control of the center. I bit back a smile and slid my queen's rook forward.

He countered by moving his queen's knight forward.

_That made this a mite more difficult then I'd planned._

He shifted in his seat and rested his chin on his fingertips. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he looked smug.

My fingers hovered over my queen, then my king's bishop. I glanced at him. He was staring at me.

He _did_ look smug.

_This. Will. Not. Stand._

I ran my fingers through my hair and twisted a strand around my fingers.

He was watching my fingers. I shot my hand out and moved my queen, dropped my fingers to the table and smiled proudly.

He met my eyes briefly then turned his attention back to the board. "That was a curious move, Nyota."

"Nuh uh," I said, looking at him from beneath lowered lashes. "I have a plan."

"The Aldebran Exchange?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I asked cheekily, leaning forward. "Are you getting nervous, Commander?"

"I do not feel anxiety, Cadet." His fingers moved lightening fast, and one of his rooks was suddenly occupying the space previously held by a white knight, which was now occupying space on the table beside his kaasa juice.

I blinked and processed the move.

Obviously, I hadn't distracted him enough.

I launched an attack on his queen pawn-side structure.

He countered with the Dracut Defense, and another pawn was resting next to his glass.

I narrowed my eyes. I had five of his pieces; he had ten of mine.

Time to launch my own, personal, attack.

I slid my finger into my mouth, wetting it, then began to trace my lips while I stared at the board; he followed my finger with his gaze.

I could move my remaining rook to his king's bishop; I could try the Cambridge Defense; I could….

Shamelessly cheat.

_Maybe it's time for him to learn how anxiety feels._

I stared at the game fixedly, lulling him into a false sense of security even as I slid my foot out of my shoe and under the material of his left pant leg, being very careful to gently scratch my nails against the skin.

_Counter that move, Commander._

His eyes narrowed. I gently tapped the edge of the uppermost attack board as I continued to run my nails up and down his leg.

I moved my rook down; I moved my toes up to his knee.

"If you believe you will distract me from the game, you are wrong, Nyota."

"I'm just stretching, Spock," I said.

"I recall you stretching similarly in Oxford."

I smirked. "Poor Boris. He was bright red – kind of like you're bright green right now."

"My skin is never bright green; at most it becomes a pale green." His fingers jerked out and moved a bishop.

It was the first less than perfect move he'd made all night.

I sat up straight in my chair and captured a rook.

He blinked at the board.

"Fascinating, huh?" I asked.

His lips tightened.

He moved his king, and I recognized that he was launching the Milakovich Defense.

I knew this one, knew it like I knew _worla _was the Vulcan word for never, like I knew my mother's recipe for _Kuku Paka, _knew it like I knew the sounds he made when I sucked on the tip of his ear.

I took a deep breath, pushed the thoughts of aroused Spock from my mind and countered his move.

I also ran my fingers into the opening of my blouse.

He watched as I caressed my skin.

"Your move, Commander," I pointed out gently, continuing the motions at my chest.

He jerked his head towards the board and moved a rook.

I removed my fingers from my skin and sent my knight into attack position; his queen and bishop were stuck in a fork, and he would sacrifice the bishop to save his queen.

He narrowed his eyes. I tipped my head and ran my fingers through my hair. He pulled his eyes from me and moved a knight; I captured it and slammed it to the table.

"Are you anxious yet?" I asked.

He refused to look at me. "Cadet, I told you that I do not experience anxiety."

"Now might be the time to learn how," I said, tipping my head and batting my eyes at him.

He raised both eyebrows and moved his queen. I countered with my knight. He let me sack a bishop and, on the next move, advanced his rook to the seventh rank.

I steadied my breathing – I'd overlooked that taking his bishop would allow him to put his rook in a strong position.

_Time to continue the Uhura Exchange._

I studied the board, swirling my fingers in tight circles on the table; his breathing changed audibly.

"You doing okay over there?" I asked him, starting to stoke my palm against the table top.

"Yes, Nyota," he said; his voice was somewhat rough.

_I may have to write a book about the Uhura Exchange after I finish the Spock-to-Human dictionary; I'll dedicate it to him._

I moved my knight to attack on a level up; he countered by moving his queen again, leaving his rook vulnerable. I took it on the next reply.

"Check," I said.

I tilted my head at him as he read the board with tight lips.

His king was vulnerable, and there was nothing he could do about it.

I'd checkmate him on the next move.

"Impressive," he said.

I grinned, "Do you give up?"

"I have no choice."

"No," I said, grinning as I swallowed the rest of my juice.

He poured me another glass and studied the board.

I unbuttoned another two buttons – my shirt was now open to my navel – and leaned forward. "You're a good loser."

"I did not lose," he said; he glanced at my chest, then back at the board.

"Yes, you did. I beat you fair and square."

"It was neither fair nor square."

"Chess is a game of strategy," I pointed out. "I out-strategized you."

"I suppose you could represent it as such."

"Damn straight," I said, grinning unrepentantly. "The _Gof_ Defense is unanswerable."

"The Toe Defense," he said, staring at me. I lolled back in my chair, thrusting my chest out at him.

_If he asks if I injured my back I won't be responsible for my actions._

He studied me in silence, then I saw a flash in his eyes; I recognized the look: He'd figured something out. "You are disappointed," he said.

"Because I beat you?" I asked, stretching my arm out so I could grab my glass.

"No, because you had planned on engaging in sexual intercourse."

I choked on my _kaasa_ juice, spitting a fair amount of it onto the table; I spent several seconds trying to regain my breath and dignity.

"Are you in need of assistance?"

"No, I'm fine." I took a deep breath and then a small sip of juice. "And I'm not disappointed about the game; I just pictured the evening a little differently."

"As I told you before, when I was recollecting our previous conversations, I recalled that you once told me that you enjoyed the game. Therefore, I concluded that it would be an appropriate activity for this evening. You had expected another type of activity."

"Not exclusively. I mean, yes, eventually, and by that I mean eventually _tonight_, but dating – interacting socially - isn't just about sex, it's about getting to know each other. Talking, sharing stories, learning about the other person."

He blinked at me. "I believe that I have learned much about you through playing this game."

I leaned forward, my shirt gaping open. "What'd you learn?"

"That you cheat."

I got up, walked over to his side of the table, and leaned down over him. "No, I strategize." I kissed him gently; his body tensed against mine.

"_Dvola'uh__,_" I whispered.

"I am calm."

"Sure you are," I said, pushing at him, so I could settle on to his lap and run my fingers along his face. "_Petakov maut_," I pronounced.

He blinked and said, "I am uncertain as to the appropriate response to that statement."

"You don't know how to handle compliments?"

"I have never understood the Human compulsion to point out the obvious."

I laughed. "You're kind of a conceited Vulcan."

His ears turned green. "I did not mean to state that I am, indeed, adorable; my point was that you have, in the past, told me that you perceive me as such; it is not necessary to continue to state that fact."

I grabbed his hands and guided them to my hips; he tightened them there.

I ran my fingers up and down the sides of his throat, "I have never called you adorable - _to your face_ – I've called you gorgeous, but not adorable."

"They are similar terms."

"Maybe to Vulcans," I said.

"Vulcans do not classify people or things as 'adorable' or 'gorgeous;' those are Human terms."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Continuing, adorable _connotes_ cuteness and delightfulness – it's something you are some of the time; gorgeous, on the other hand, is something you always are," I paused and openly ogled him, his eyebrow elevated in response, "Splendid and sumptuous in appearance."

He shifted beneath me uneasily – almost as if he were uncomfortable.

I stared down at him, letting him process.

Finally, he said, "Thank you for explaining the difference."

I sighed, then wiggled in his lap a bit, enjoying the reaction of his greenest parts; "And now is the part of the social interaction where you pay me a compliment."

He blinked, and I could almost hear his brain whirring.

_I'm waiting. I can wait. I'm patient._

I started to tap my fingers against his shoulder.

_Very, very patient._

I started to squirm.

_Is it really that hard to come up with one thing?_

Finally, just as I was about to give up on the whole endeavor, he spoke. "Nyota you possess physical attributes that, in their universal aesthetics, transcend the disparities of the concept of physical beauty across numerous species."

Translated that meant that he – and forty-eight point three percent of the known universe - found me ravishingly beautiful and that my mere presence left him – and that same forty-eight point three percent of the universe – unable to function.

It wasn't true, but it could be worse.

"We'll work on it," I said, smiling down at him until I couldn't resist kissing him a second longer, which served to effectively end the conversation.


	4. Morning After

Many, many thanks to the veritable village that helped me raise this chapter: T'Leba, TFTSS, Kal, Doc and steph. I appreciate all of your help!

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.**

~**Part Four of Eight:** _Morning After_~

Don't let your friends talk you into doing stupid things. You know what's best for your relationship.

_____________­­­­_____________________________________________________

_Please let Gaila be out; please let Gaila be out; please let Gaila be out; please let Gai…. _

"Good morning, Nyota. How was your night? What'd you do? How many poor, defenseless garments got sacrificed to your mindless passion?

"I said I'd buy you another dress."

"I know you will. Now stop stalling. What's the bottom line?" She tapped her fingers against her knees. "Just give me a number."

"To describe what exactly?"

"Whatever you want it to describe."

I was too tired to engage in a verbal sparring match with her.

"What do you want it to describe, Gaila?"

"Eleven. It was an eleven, wasn't it?"

"Was _what_ an eleven?"

"Sex with the Commander, Nyota; please try to pay attention."

"I am paying attention; you're just making far less sense than you usually do," I protested.

"Why aren't you telling me what happened?" She grabbed her chest. "Oh, _Oekon_! It was bad, wasn't it? That's why you aren't talking about it. What happened?"

"No. It wasn't bad. It was nice."

"Mice were involved? Wow! Vulcan kink is at a whole other level! I could have a whole song about Vulcan-mice love in the opera." She held up a hand and closed her eyes. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking, I'm thinking an actor dressed in a mouse costume dancing a _Pas de deux_ with Spock…."

"You heard me; I said it was 'nice.' And stop talking about the opera."

She pouted. "_The Magic_ _Slusho Mix_ will be a classic. It will be performed centuries from now, just like _La bohème_ or _Turandot_."

"I thought it was called _Gaila, Dr. Flenderson and Nyota Bag a Vulcan_."

She waved her hand. "That was the working title. Stop trying to distract me. We need to focus on the fact that you described sex with the Commander as 'nice.' I wish there had been mice because that would've been interesting. Nice is boring."

"It was not boring. We played chess…."

"Strip chess?"

"No. And I beat him…"

"You beat him?" she demanded, shock written plainly on her face.

"Thanks for the faith in my abilities."

"Ny, I believe in you. You are capable of great and wondrous things."

"Then why are you so shocked that I beat Spock at chess?"

"Because he's the Commander and a Vulcan, and you're…_you_."

"My _babu_ was an International Master. He and I played chess all the time. I'm a good player."

She folded her arms and stared at me.

_Damn it!_

She knows me too well.

"And I had an excellent strategy."

"Which was?"

"Distraction. Anyway. All of the activities of the evening were quite satisfactory."

She raised one flame-red eyebrow. "'Satisfactory' does not imply ripping off of clothing."

"It was a restrained evening," I elaborated.

"There were restraints? Now you're talking, Cadet."

"Restrained," I said.

"Restrained is another word for nice."

"It most certainly is not."

"I don't understand, Nyota. When did the clothes get torn off? When did he throw you down on the floor and have his Vulcan way with you? What languages did he give you hot commands in? How many times did he growl your name?"

I closed my eyes and wondered if I was going to have an aneurysm.

_It _feels_ like an aneurysm._

_I'd kind of like it if it were an aneurysm._

"Well?" she demanded.

I forced my eyes open and gave into her - it would happen sooner or later; better that it be now than after thirty minutes of badgering, singing and inappropriate hand gestures.

"There was no ripping off of clothing, no commands in any language, and minimal growling."

"I'm so sorry, Nyota."

"Why?"

It hadn't been Oxford, but it had been amazing, all the same.

"Because there wasn't the kind of crazed passion that ends in security being called."

"What? Why would crazed passion end in security being called?"

My mind spun through several scenarios, each more horrifying than the last.

"No reason. Anyway, I can't believe the passion's faded already."

"Why did security have to intervene in one of your trysts?"

"There may have been public nudity involved. It isn't relevant to the discussion at hand, which is that one week after you knocked the pants off of the Commander, the passion has faded."

"The passion has not faded!"

She continued talking. "There's only one conclusion: your hot, lusty, sex-crazed Vulcan

commander has become a…."

"Vulcan?"

"Exactly!"

"You do realize he _is_ Vulcan, right?" I verified.

"He wasn't in Oxford. At least he didn't act like one."

"That was our first…"

"Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh…."

"Time; I'm quite happy with everything."

She frowned, "Why?"

"Because good sex doesn't have to be comprised of ripping off clothes and growling."

Though it's fun when it is.

And when it's not.

_It's all fun._

She stared at me appraisingly. "It should be."

"There's a great deal to be said for quiet passion."

"But it's not, is it?"

"I'm not following you again."

"Nobody ever talks about quiet passion."

I smiled smugly, "That's because the people who've found it are too busy enjoying each

other."

Poor Gaila. She's had great sex, but she's never had good loving.

"As long as you're okay with it."

"I am."

"And you understand that I just don't get it."

_No, you don't._

"I'm fine with that, too – though my sincere hope is that one day you will."

"Perish that thought," she said, her mouth falling open. "I thought you were my friend, yet you're willing to curse me to pedestrian sex?"

"It's not pedestrian. Just because we're not swinging from the rafters…."

"Ah, Cadet Ajax," she murmured, her face decidedly dreamy. "That was a good weekend. I need to call him."

This was the same woman who couldn't leave the room if a blue shoe was sitting next to a red shoe. Incredible.

Her eyes snapped back into focus, "So, when's the next date?" She said "date" in a sing-songy voice.

"Tuesday."

"I hope you're planning the activity this time because, seriously, _chess_, Ny?"

"I am planning it," I said.

It was going to be fabulous.

"Oh, I don't like that face. That's your 'I have a plan that I think is brilliant, but that everyone else knows is kind of lame' face."

"It is a brilliant plan," I objected. "And it's something Dr. Flenderson would be very proud of." I grabbed my PADD, and found the relevant quote. "Dr. Flenderson reminds us to introduce activities that are 'designed to strengthen the bond that already exists between you and your honey.'"

"Just so we're clear, I'm asking this question with the full knowledge that I am most likely not going to approve: What are you planning, Nyota?"

"Movie night," I said definitively.

"I don't think I heard you right."

"Movie night," I said slowly.

She shook her head. "What language are you speaking? Romulan? French?"

"We're going to snuggle on his couch while watching a movie and eating snacks."

"Italian? Klingon? Swahili?"

"Humans have been watching movies on date nights for over three hundred years. Who am I to fly in the face of tradition?"

"It's as bad as chess," she moaned.

"It is _not_ as bad as chess. The movie I've chosen…"

"Don't tell me," she said, holding up her hand. "You're going to make him watch that stupid movie."

_Hey!_

"_They Live_ is not stupid, Gaila. I keep telling you that. People all over the galaxy love it, and do you know why?"

"I truly have no idea."

"Because it's _good_."

_Why isn't she getting this?_

"I know you and Spock are both romantically-challenged, but _They Live_ is not anyone's – Human or Vulcan – idea of a date movie."

"Of course it's a date movie! Any movie is a date movie."

"I have two words for you."

"No."

"Alternate plan," she persisted.

"No."

"Hear me out. If you're determined to do the movie thing, at least watch a movie with sex in it."

"No. Dating isn't about sex; it's about getting to know the other person."

"Dating isn't about sex?"

"No, it's not."

Not entirely.

"Then you're doing it wrong. I have one word for you: Lingerie," she prompted.

"No! No lingerie. I'm not interested in lingerie."

"Human women have been dressing like tarts on date nights for way longer than three hundred years. Who are_ you_ to fly in the face of tradition?"

"Stop quoting me to me. It's annoying. Where did you hear the word 'tart'? And I don't need lingerie."

"_Everybody_ knows the word 'tart,' just like _everybody_ needs lingerie, Ny. It's a scientific fact."

"No, it is not, Gaila. It's really, really not."

"It would be if scientists actually researched something useful."

"Instead of them researching all the unnecessary things they research – things like geology, biology, physiology…."

"You understand my point," she interjected, grinning broadly. "So, you're going to forget about that stupid movie and buy lingerie."

"I am not going to buy lingerie."

"_They Live_ and movie night don't fit into the libretto; lingerie does. Please. Do it for the opera."

"So, I was thinking popcorn."

"Do it for the children who will be singing along with _The Vulcan and the Negligee_ for centuries to come. Do it for the children, Nyota."

"Popcorn with butter _and_ salt."

"Think of the children, Ny. The happy, singing children."

_Lingerie. Pwah._


	5. Movie Night

Thank you for all of the views and reviews. There's (finally) some mild smut in this chapter. I hope it rewards your patience!

Thanks again to the Usual Suspects for all of their help in making this chapter much, much better than it started out.

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.**

~**Part Five of Eight** _Movie Night_~

Share the things that you enjoy and that make you happy with your sweetie. There is nothing like experiencing something you've seen or done a hundred times through new eyes, and, in return, your enthusiasm will be like catnip – irresistible and alluring.

_____________­­­­_____________________________________________________

Popcorn had been a mistake: the hot, salty, buttery smell almost derailed me. If it weren't for the succulent Vulcan delicacy awaiting me across campus, I would've found a quiet corner of the quad and devoured both bags.

But Spock _was_ waiting for me, and I had something special to share with him: my favorite movie, my _babu's_ favorite movie.

A little piece of who I was.

_A single kernel wouldn't be a problem. Just to tide me over._

I took a deep breath and fought back temptation.

I could never just stop at one piece of popcorn.

_It's not popcorn - it's_ _Melvaran mud fleas._

_Salty, buttery Melvaran mud fleas, piping hot and full of all manner of delectable grease and oil._

I held the bags away from my body and walked more quickly.

I could make it. I was not a slave to my desires.

_Most of the time._

I took a deep breath and held it.

If I couldn't smell it, I wouldn't want it.

I rang the chime and practically threw myself over the threshold when the door slid open.

He was seated at his dining table, working on a PADD, as I barreled in the door.

"Are you distressed, Nyota?"

Panting slightly, I held the bags at arm's length. "This is popcorn. Getting here was a bit of a challenge."

"Is the popcorn exceedingly burdensome?"

"In a manner of speaking," I said, laughing a little as I deposited the bags of temptation on the table in front of the couch. "I really like popcorn."

He tipped his head, his mannerism asking the question he wouldn't voice.

"I wanted to stop and eat both bags, but I also wanted to share with you. Guess you won out."

"Indeed," he said, tabbing off the PADD and rising gracefully. "Please explain about popcorn."

_For a smart man he's got a lot to learn._

_And I get to teach him._

_I like the idea of that._

"Popcorn is a gift from the gods to everybody. You take the popcorn kernels and immerse them in boiling water and oil, and then slather them with all kinds of good toppings: caramel, sugar, cheese, butter, salt…." I quivered.

He looked fixedly at the bags.

"This has salt and butter," I said, pulling myself together. "It is traditionally eaten while watching a movie. As that is the activity I have planned for this evening, I thought…." I waved the bags. "I brought napkins for me and a spoon for you, unless you want to use your gloves."

I sat down and opened the bags of popcorn; the smell of butter and salt wafted out and made my mouth water.

"The gloves are for food _preparation_, Nyota," he corrected as he settled on the far end of the couch.

I slid closer to him and snuggled into his side, grabbing his left arm and positioning it around my shoulders. He tensed against me momentarily. I balanced the bags of popcorn on my lap and handed him his spoon; some of the tension drained out of his muscles as he took it.

"Let's discuss movie night rules," I said. "I prefer to hold all discussion and questions about the movie until the end. Are you okay with that?"

"I am amenable."

"Excellent. Computer, _They Live_, 1988." I prompted.

The vid screen sprang to life, and the familiar opening credits appeared. I tucked into my popcorn and focused on the movie.

He shifted a bit, finally settling down. I watched him out of the corner of my eyes as he stared at the popcorn. It seemed as if he were trying to analyze it. He carefully inserted the spoon into the bag and retrieved a kernel.

Watching him was captivating.

He looked at it for several seconds before putting it in his mouth and chewing methodically; swallowing seemed to take him a long time.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I recall you stating that you did not want to have a discussion during the movie."

"No, I said I didn't want to talk about the _movie_ during the movie. This is a question about the popcorn."

"Thank you for clarifying the rules," he said, tipping his head towards me. "As for the popcorn, it is most unusual."

"Unusual as in 'this is the best thing I've ever eaten,' or unusual in, 'I can't believe anyone would eat this?'"

"Neither statement is appropriate," he replied, taking another kernel. "Perhaps it is an acquired taste."

"Do you want the rest of it?" I asked; I would finish off his bag myself quite happily.

"I will continue to eat it."

"Next time I'll bring Red Vines and feed them to you."

"What are Red Vines?"

"Cherry-flavored, red licorice."

"Candy?" he said in the same tone most Humans used to refer to Bolian food.

"You'll love it," I assured him.

"I would prefer to sample the item before reaching that conclusion," he countered, eating a spoonful of popcorn.

I absently rubbed the inside of his thigh in circular motions.

He watched my hand.

"Ooo," I said, stopping the massage and pointing at the screen. "You have to watch this."

He dragged his eyes away from my hand and back to the screen.

Ten minutes later, just as George Nada put the sunglasses on for the first time, I turned my head, so I could see his reaction. He blinked but kept his gaze focused on the screen. Fifteen minutes after that, right before my favorite line of the movie – my favorite movie line ever – I turned again.

"Nyota, are you aware that you look at me immediately prior to significant events in the plot of the film?"

"I want to see your expression."

He turned to face me. "I do not display facial expressions."

"Not to be contrary, sir, but your eyebrows, nostrils and lips do all sorts of things that can very easily be called expressions, especially to someone who has studied you."

"You have studied me?"

"Closely, and with a keen interest."

His eyelid twitched. I leaned forward, fascinated.

"Nyota?"

"Your eyelid twitched. That's a new one."

"My eyelid does not twitch."

"No, of course it doesn't." I kissed his cheek.

His face became very still, and I knew he was trying to fight making any of the little facial cues I'd just pointed out. "It would appear that we are having another discussion."

"Again, it's not about the movie, so we aren't breaking any of the movie watching rules."

He was as still as a statue, only his mouth moved as he said, "Do you wish to stop the movie and tell me the plotline, or do you wish for me to discover it for myself?"

"Discover it for yourself," I replied, tracing his jaw line with the nail of my index finger before snuggling closer. "Computer, rewind four point five minutes."

We'd missed the best line ever written.

"'I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass…and I'm all out of bubblegum,'" I whispered along with George.

"Computer, pause movie," Spock said.

Startled, I picked my head up and looked at him.

"You said those words as we began our descent into Oxford."

I nodded. "I never said it was my line – it's pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"It is evocative."

I snorted. "That it is. Computer, resume movie." I snuggled back into the warmth of his body and began to trace circles on his chest. His arm tightened across my shoulders. I stopped moving.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"I do not object to your attentions."

I smiled and started tracing circles again.

It was a struggle, but I didn't look at him during the remainder of the movie, not even during the alien party scene or when George, Holly and Frank left the television studio. It wasn't until the end credits began that I bounced around in my seat and beamed at him.

"Wasn't that fabulous?"

"I must ask," he said, not actually answering the question. "What is it about this film that so appeals to you?

"I like the action, the humor, and the bubblegum line, and it was my _babu's_ favorite movie."

"Was that the same grandfather that taught you to play chess?"

I nodded.

"Most fascinating."

"It _is_ fascinating. It's an exemplary parody of Twentieth Century materialism."

"The antagonists were aliens."

"Yes."

"I am an alien."

"Only half," I said cheerily.

"Your roommate is an alien; many of your classmates are aliens; and you plan on becoming a commissioned officer in Starfleet."

_Oh God._

"Yes," I said, drawing the word out to five syllables.

"To summarize, your lover is an alien; several of your friends are aliens; and you intend on becoming a member of an organization with the primary mission of seeking out and working with alien races."

"You referred to yourself as my lover," I said.

_He called me his lover!_

He drew his eyebrows together; I didn't point it out.

"I am your lover, and you are mine, Nyota; that was not my point."

_Were there words after he referred to himself as my lover?_

I smiled goofily at him. "Sorry, what was the point?"

"You enjoy watching a movie that portrays an alien race as antagonistic towards Terrans; it is illogical."

I blinked as I came back to Earth.

_Okay, there _is_ a flaw in my plan._

"It's not about actual aliens," I pointed out. "And it was made in 1988. The Dark Ages."

"The Dark Ages is an outdated historical term used to describe the Early Middle Ages of Earth's history."

I took a deep, steadying breath and stared at him. "The movie was made in 1988. No one on Earth had met an actual alien, and lots of movies of the period depicted hostile aliens bent on dominating and/or destroying the Earth and its people. Next time we'll watch _E.T.: The Extraterrestrial_; the alien is the hero and Humans are the bad guys."

I continued, "I'm very fond of real aliens – I prefer the term non-Terran by the way – like you, Gaila, or Et'Bet. I love non-Terrans. I love _you_."

He took a deep breath and leaned towards me. "I did find the technology interesting, though flawed."

Which was his way of saying he loved me madly and passionately.

"Twentieth Century Humans had a long way to go," I agreed.

"Indeed."

My desire for him woke from slumber, flooding me with heat and longing. "Are we done talking about the movie?"

"I have no other opinions to voice. What did you wish to do now?"

I began to unbutton my shirt; his eyes followed my fingers, his eyebrows heading together.

"What?" I asked, my fingers stilling.

"Do you find the movie sexually stimulating?"

"I find you sexually stimulating," I corrected, finishing with the buttons and shimmying out of the shirt. "Always and no matter what."

"I can see the distinction."

"I'm very happy about that, Spock," I said, leaning towards him and kissing him. He angled his body towards me, returning the kiss. I clasped his hands and guided them up my obliques and to my breasts. He teased the nipples with this thumbs, cupped and squeezed the globes.

I did my damnedest to suck his tonsils right out of his body.

_Do Vulcans have tonsils?_

_Do I care?_

_Not even a tiny bit._

I got my hands under his shirt and began brushing my palms across hot and soft skin, crinkly and rough hair, pert and hard nipples.

We were both wearing way too many clothes.

With a surge of willpower unparalleled in the history of womankind, I removed my breasts from his capable hands, and pushed myself off of his lap – _when did I end up there? _– and scooted a cushion away from his delectable body.

"Nyota, is something not to your liking?"

_Everything is just dandy. Thanks for asking. _

"It's perfect. Can you take your pants off please?" I asked as I shimmied out of my jeans.

His lips quirked, but he complied.

The second they were on the floor, I launched myself back at him, straddling him.

_Oh hello, little Spock!_

_Not that you're _little_._

His hands were gently squeezing my buttocks.

"I missed you," I said.

In response, he bent his glossy head, and his lips, teeth and tongue found my nipples. I arched closer to him, giving him plenty of room to work. My hips moved back and forth of their own accord.

His teeth tightened on a nipple.

My eyes slid closed, and I began to keen; I could feel him quivering between my legs.

_Moremoremoremoremore._

His fingers smoothed down my spine then grasped my hips.

"Nyota?"

_Sure, okay, yes, you bet._

"Oh, yes," I replied, kissing him as he moved me up and then down, surging inside of me.

I threw my head back, letting each sensation ripple through me.

"Nyota?" he asked again; I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, his eyes depthless. He was holding himself still; I could feel the tension in his muscles – and mine – as he held himself at bay.

"I want this. I want you," I said.

His fingers skimmed across my temples in an odd pattern, his eyes were brilliant, focused like never before.

"Spock?" I whispered.

My voice seemed to bring him back to the moment, and he blinked. Simultaneously, he slid his fingers into my hair and pumped up deeply into me.

The odd moment was forgotten in the intensity of my body's response to his.

I stroked downwards, cupping his balls in my hands, trying to layer sensation for him.

In response, he brought his fingers to my clitoris, began to play me perfectly. He was pushing me beyond my control. I tried to move away from his fingers – to slow the onslaught until I could get him to catch up with me.

He kept his fingers on me – kept them busy.

_God, that's good. He's good. Goodgoodgoodsogoodyesgood._

I came crying out his name, falling forward, my face against his shoulder as he pumped up smoothly into me and came with a shudder and a soft groan.

His hands caressed my back gently, his breath heavy in my ear.

_I can't wait to tell Gaila she was wrong._

They Live_ is the _perfect_ movie for a date night._


	6. Good Talk

**As of this part, the story is going from nine chapters to eight. I just can't eke a ninth chapter out of this plot. To make up for it, there will be smut in part eight.**

**Thanks to everyone who has helped me through the process of writing this story. **

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Chapter One.**

~**Part Six of Eight:** _Good Talk_~

Men the world over – big strong men who aren't afraid of jumping out of planes or taking a rocket ship to the moon – will become terrified little children when you say six simple words to them: I want to talk about us.

________________________________________________________________________

"Oh, Ny, I found it!"

"Good for you. Congratulations," I murmured, not looking up from my PADD.

"Hey! Pay attention to me!"

"I am paying attention to you, Gaila," I said absently.

Her pillow landed next to me. "No, you're not. Stop studying for a minute."

"Lala," I said, ripping myself away from the exceedingly annoying world of Subspace Geometry. "You know I need to study. I have a date…."

"Interaction."

"With Spock in thirty minutes. I can't help you figure out how to correct the narrative problems in Act Two right now."

"There aren't any narrative problems in Act Two. And don't call me Lala. I hate it. Give me back my pillow."

"I know you hate being called Lala; on a related note, do you know what _I_ hate?" I asked, throwing her pillow back at her; she caught it one handed.

"Subspace Geometry and me interrupting you while you're studying Subspace Geometry. But this is important. It's about the Commander."

My stomach clenched. Computers just _obeyed_ Gaila. What deep, dark secret had she found out about him?

_He's married, a criminal, or two-timing me with Boris._

I took a deep breath and looked up at her. "What is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Wow! All I have to do is say his name, and suddenly you'll listen to me. You have a one-track mind."

"_You_ have a one-track mind."

"My track branches in several directions. Anyway, do you want to know what I found?"

"Sure," I said, trying to look nonchalant.

"That thing you said he did the last time you were together, the thing with the fingers on your face? It tweaked something in my brain."

"Your brain is pretty tweaked as it is."

"Oh, ha ha! I'm trying to help you out here."

"Sorry. Please proceed."

"His finger position was consistent with a Vulcan mind-meld."

The phrase triggered something in my brain – a vague memory from two years ago when, for purely academic reasons, I'd launched an independent study into every aspect of Vulcan culture.

"But that's…."

"You betcha, girl," she said, grinning hugely as she tossed her PADD to my bed. "Spock wants to go steady."

"Gaila, did you buy a book about the slang of Twentieth-Century Earth without telling me?"

"I was thinking of writing a biography of Dr. Flenderson," she replied, as if that explained everything.

"So you've given up on the opera?" I grabbed the PADD and looked at the page she'd found.

"Never! _Spock and Nyota! The Opera_ will be my seminal work."

"I liked _The Magical Slusho Mixes_."

"How about _Spock, Nyota, and the Magical Slusho Mixes! The Opera_?"

"It's a little long." My eyes scudded across the page, then stopped. "Oh!"

"You got to that part, huh?"

I'd always known that what Spock and I had was not just a fling, but it was a little startling, to say the least, to see it flashing on a computer screen in front of my face.

Stunned, I stared at her.

"Are you ready for that kind of commitment with the Commander?"

"He could've just been playing with my hair as he…did stuff."

"Or…."

"He and I need to have a talk." I stood up and handed her the PADD.

"You didn't answer me. Do you want that kind of a relationship with him?"

"Yes."

"I knew it! I knew it the second you came home from that first class and you were all gaga over him. 'Commander Spock is brilliant. Commander Spock knows more about the Romulan language than anyone else in Starfleet. Commander Spock's pants are very tight.'"

"I didn't say anything about his pants. And I didn't develop feelings for him during the first class. It took much longer."

A week, to be exact.

"Besides, Gaila, I've never pretended that I just wanted a fling with him."

She smiled. "I know that. I just wanted you to be aware of that before you freak out over the mind-meld thing."

"I'm not freaked out."

Not completely.

"Good luck. And I better not see you back here before tomorrow morning, or I'll be _very_ disappointed."

Spock was sitting at his table, bent over a PADD, when he admitted me. "Nyota, you are ten point seven minutes early. I must finish my message to Lieutenant Commander Sowards regarding today's Kobayashi Maru simulations.

"I'm sorry I'm early," I said, sitting opposite him. His fingers floated over the PADD with practiced ease.

My first sexual fantasy about him had involved his fingers sliding over me with the same precision they did a PADD.

"Nyota, your respiration and heart rate are elevated." He had switched the PADD off and laid it aside as I had thought my dirty thoughts. "Are you distressed?"

Thank God for cinnamon-colored skin that didn't really show arousal, embarrassment, or anxiety.

_Or, in this case, equal measures of all three._

I could pretend that what had maybe, perhaps almost happened hadn't maybe, perhaps almost happened.

I could launch myself across the table at him and forget about mind-melds, about commitment, about anything but making the fantasy of his fingers sliding across my skin a reality.

"I want to have a talk about us."

Or, I could do that.

"Us?" he asked.

"You and me."

He released a breath that was perilously close to a sigh. "Please proceed."

It was like he was telling a Klingon to just get on with the torture already.

_Dr. Flenderson you were right: no matter what color a man's blood is – red, green, blue, pink or orange – it runs cold the instant their significant other announces that it is time to talk about their relationship._

"Were you trying to mind-meld with me the last time we were – _having sex, making love, boinking_ - together?"

It seemed that my mouth had decided on a course of action without informing the rest of me. Obviously, it had been hanging out with my fingers way too much.

He was silent for a long time, so long that I began to wonder if my mouth had made a big mistake.

Finally, he spoke. "May I ask how you know about that subject?"

_Well, I first read a bit about them when I was learning everything I could about you and Vulcan and Vulcan culture._

_You know, for academic reasons._

_And then I read some more when Gaila showed me the article fifteen minutes ago._

_I'm practically an expert on the subject._

"There were references in the logs of the Enterprise NX-01. Subcommander T'Pol…."

"I have heard of Subcommander T'Pol's activities," he said.

"Is this something you don't want to talk about?"

He looked at his hands. "It is something I should have discussed with you earlier. Prior to our…experiences…in Oxford."

"You've lost me, Spock."

"I apologize. Our relationship is unprecedented in my experience, and the best way to proceed is not always clear. Vulcan mores dictate that prior to any physical consummation, there should be a mental connection. I was remiss in allowing circumstances to proceed in the order they did."

I frowned. "So you regret Oxford?"

He raised his head. "I did not say that, Nyota. This is a subject I should have broached with you earlier; however, to explain such concepts to Humans can be difficult." He paused and tipped his head. "I should remember that you are not like typical Humans. You are a brilliant, tolerant young woman.

"As to your earlier question, the last time we were together, there was a moment that I desired to initiate a mind-meld, but to do so would have been improper. We had not discussed it, and you were not prepared."

"And now? I can be prepared now."

"Do you fully understand what you are asking?"

"For you and me to share our thoughts; for the two of us to be connected in a profound way. Yes, I understand that. I want it."

I saw something flicker in his eyes.

"You have shared a great deal of yourself with me. Stories of your family, of your childhood." His ears colored slightly. "Your body."

"A mind-meld will allow me to share my mind with you in a way I have not previously. It is something I desire, as well.

"I must caution you. A mind-meld can be overwhelming. I am, of course, well-practiced in controlling my thoughts, but there is no guarantee that you will find it comfortable. It is not done with non-Vulcans very often. I have never performed one with a Human before."

A brief flare of worry erupted in my stomach.

_What if it hurt? What if I couldn't control it? What if I saw something I didn't like? What if he did?_

"Could it, you know, affect me?" I asked, waving my hand around my head.

"I do not plan on delving deeply into your psyche, Nyota. I have no wish to harm you."

We stared at each other for several seconds. The final decision was mine.

"I trust you," I said.

And I meant it.

Unequivocally.

"You are committed to this course of action?"

"Definitely."

He leaned across the table towards me, his eyes luminous. "This is not necessary."

I leaned towards him, too. "Beg to differ, sir, but, yes, it is. I want you to be comfortable in all aspects of this relationship, and this can help."

He straightened. "As you wish, Nyota."

And that was the bottom line. He did really want me to be comfortable and happy.

And I wanted the same thing for him.

_That's why we're perfect for one another._

"Please sit on the floor," he directed, as he rose and began to light several candles.

I left my chair, walked to the center of the room, and folded down, so I was sitting cross-legged.

He moved about the room with a grace that was verging on balletic.

_He really is gorgeous._

_Stop it, Nyota. Don't ogle the Vulcan right before he mind-melds with you._

"Computer, lights to one percent," he ordered as he sat down opposite of me and mirrored my posture.

"Nyota, I would understand if you do not wish to do this."

"Meld away, Spock," I said, waving my hand about in a way I hoped denoted nonchalance.

_Okay. Off we go._

His fingers, strong and sensuous, brushed across my face, and then pressed down; his skin was hot against mine, and his breath blossomed across my face

"Our minds – one and together."

One moment I was alone; the next he was there, in my mind.

He entered gently, almost as if he were unsure that his presence would be welcomed.

I relaxed. It didn't hurt.

There was a palpable sense of relief. He'd been more worried than he'd let on.

_I had no wish to harm you, Nyota, _he said in my head, his voice floating around._ I am pleased that you find this comfortable._

_I wouldn't go quite that far, Spock. It's strange to have someone in here with me._

_I can depart._

_No! It's just different – but I can get used to it._

_I have much I wish to show you, Nyota._

There I was – how he remembered me. My ponytail swinging as I walked into his classroom. My voice. He had appreciated my intelligence first. Had appreciated that I did not back down from him, did not give in to him.

The warmth came later, but not as much later as I had ever thought.

And, with it, shame.

_There are feelings, _I said.

_There are always feelings, _he replied._ I have not completed the ritual of _Kolinahr. Cthia_ binds the emotions; it does not eradicate them._

_You were ashamed._

_Love and passion are considered to be in bad taste on Vulcan._

_But…._

_I am not on Vulcan_, he replied, gently guiding me away from this corner of his mind.

And to the moment I walked up to him in the hallway outside of his office dressed like….

_Gaila, _I said.

_Differently,_ he disagreed.

There was confusion about why I had seemingly become a different person. The brief flare of hope that I shared his interest, followed closely by the shame at the hope and the ruthless intervention of logic.

_Different. Different. She is different than me. It is not proper._

The search through memory for an explanation that was more sane, more reasonable, less scary. Ah, yes, there was fear there – fear that I might actually share his affections and what that would mean for him, and me, and us – our careers, ourselves.

Then there was Oxford. The night I had kissed him, the morning he had kissed me. Making love. His amazement at the sensations – at my pleasure – that he was able to provide me with such joy. That he felt similarly. Uncertainty that he could meet my needs for very long.

_You do. You will_, I reassured him.

I could feel the doubt, but he squelched it quickly and continued with his memories.

Then I walked into the restaurant wearing Gaila's dress, and I could feel his dizzy rush of emotion: arousal, the frantic struggle to remain in control…and anger.

_You were angry at me? _I asked.

_At both of us._ _I had asked you not to dress so unless we were alone._

_I was angrier at myself for my reaction, _he reassured me_. It was illogical that I should be so drawn to you after having been so satiated less than an hour earlier._

_I'm sorry, _I said, my voice weaving around the images – trying to soften the memories for him. _I didn't understand. Now that I do, I'll never do that again._

_In public_, he prompted.

_In public_, I agreed, and I could see my smile – glowing sunlight.

It faded at the next memory: more shame as he allowed himself to submit to disinhibition when we were back in my room.

_You were very Human for a moment, _I said.

_But I am not Human_, he _said. I am Vulcan, with a Vulcan's strength._

There was horror at what he'd done. Worry about me, about him, about what this relationship could do to him. About what he could do to me.

_You did not hurt me, _I pointed out.

He showed me the back of my neck, bruised and angry – the mark dark black against my warm brown.

_It was a vivid reminder to me that if I did not remain in control, I could injure you, _he said.

_I barely felt it when it was happening, and after…._

_After? _

_After it was a reminder that what had happened was real, not just another fantasy._

_No. This is not a fantasy, _he said.

_I love you, _I said.

And then there they were – the feelings he held back: joy, peace, contentment, want, need. Love.

_You love me, _I said.

_You can see that, _he said.

Then he withdrew, as gently as he had entered.

"Whoa!" I said, my voice loud in my ears. I closed my eyes and got used to my brain being my own again.

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine." I snapped my eyes open and gazed at him. An overwhelming desire to crawl onto his lap and feel his physical presence washed over me.

"You may."

"I may what?"

"Do what you wish to do."

"How do you know what I was thinking?"

"The link remains for a period after the meld is broken. As we continue to practice the discipline, you, too, will remain in contact with my mind after we end the meld."

"So you're in my head now? You can read my mind?"

I wasn't so sure I liked _that_.

His lips quirked. "Not exactly. It is fading already."

"But if we continue to do this?"

"It will take longer for the link to lessen. However, I can teach you ways to shield yourself, if you wish."

I gave into my desires – _he said I could_ – and crawled onto his lap, relishing his heat and the way his body supported mine. "I'd appreciate that."

His muscles tightened against me.

"I wouldn't use them all the time, you know," I added, fighting to keep my eyes open.

"Nor will I," he said, brushing his lips across my temple.

"This is all going to take some getting used to."

"I am aware of that."

"You'll need to be patient," I said.

"I am capable of great patience."

"And don't ever expect me to apologize for being a Human."

He pulled back and looked at me. "I would never expect that."

"Good. And don't ever apologize about being a Vulcan."

He looked as close to taken aback as he was capable of looking. "Why would I apologize for being a Vulcan?"

I snaked my arms around his waist and pulled myself closer to him. "You never know. Vulcans aren't perfect."

He didn't say anything, his posture didn't change – but I could tell that he disagreed. I idly wondered if the link was still in place for me, too.

This was _definitely_ going to take some getting used to.

His lips brushed through my hair.

"Are you sleepy?" I asked, my body feeling very heavy.

"Not particularly."

I pressed his face into my neck. "See, that's not fair. I'm always the first one to get sleepy."

"Vulcans require far less sleep than Humans."

"I know," I said, my eyes drifting closed. "I did lots and lots of research about Vulcans."

"You may go to sleep. I will take you to bed," he said.

"I thought you said the link was fading. Why can you still read my mind?"

He shifted his weight, and then I was floating upwards, his arms supporting me easily. "I do not always need to read your mind to discern your needs, Nyota."

"Got it," I said. It sounded like "goh iff." My mouth felt very far away from my brain.

"I am pleased."

_He's so amaz…._


	7. Shopping Trip

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.**

~**Part Seven of Eight:** _Shopping Trip_~

Keep the passion alive. There was attraction and electricity at the beginning – don't forget that. Keep working on growing and evolving the connection between the two of you

_________________________________________________________________

"Are you almost done?" I groused as we entered our third store. "I have homework to do."

"This is more important than homework," she said.

"Shopping for," I gulped and looked around, "what you're shopping for is not more important than homework."

Gaila ran her fingers across a rack of leather bustiers; her eyes fluttered closed. It was disturbing. "One day we'll be done with school, and we'll be on a spaceship a million miles from Earth, and you'll be kicking yourself that you didn't have the foresight to stock up on clothing designed to enhance your sex life."

"No, I will not, Gaila." I dropped my voice. "My sex life does not need enhancing."

"Kelly would disagree."

"Who's Kelly?"

"Uh, Dr. Kelly Flenderson? Psychologist, dating guru, procurer of Vulcans?"

"You call her Kelly now?"

"Of course," she replied, turning to idly flip through a rack of see-through material. "After all, she and I worked together very closely on Project Get the Xenolinguist Some."

"I thought it was Project Pointy Ears."

"Nah, you were the real project, Nyota Uhura."

_Sometimes it's like she's speaking a different language._

_One of the few I _don't_ know._

"My sex life doesn't need enhancing," I repeated through gritted teeth.

"As Kelly said in _Making Your Love Last for a Really Long Time_, 'a woman should never grow complacent in her relationship. She should constantly win her man over anew.'"

"I'm not complacent, and I don't need to win over my man anew."

She shook her head pityingly, "I wonder if a certain someone would agree with you."

"He most certainly would."

"So you're saying he'd be unmoved if you wore _this?_" She reached into a rack and pulled out a black confection comprised entirely of lace and straps.

It looked painful. And complicated.

And painful.

"He'd be mortified."

"No, he'd lose his mind, his composure, and his ability to function for at least three hours."

"His ability to function?"

"Other than sexually – his ability to function other than sexually."

I grabbed the thing from her – it was starting to embarrass me – and stuck it back onto the rack. "I don't want him to lose any of his abilities. We're good the way we are."

"But you didn't have sex the last time you _interacted_."

"No, we had a more profound experience," I said.

"But no sex."

_She really doesn't get it._

"Gaila, there are other aspects to a relationship than constant sex. There's talking and sharing and learning about each other. You know, the little things."

"He's _little_? I never pictured him as _little_."

_One day I really will have an aneurysm._

_And she won't even feel bad about it._

"That's not what I _meant_. Look, I bought you the new dress. At the first store. At the first store we were in an hour ago. Can we just go back home?"

"Uh-uh. You need to buy something, too. That was the whole point of this excursion."

"The whole point of this excursion was to replace the dress that was, uh…."

"Shredded in the heat of crazy, passionate sex," she said.

"_Torn_. We've accomplished our mission, and now its time to go back to the Academy."

"Or, you can get _this_." She pulled out something that resembled a bow.

She held it up in front of me: The bow was a pale green and it covered the breasts; there was a strip of material that was designed to continue down over the navel and between the legs.

"It's green."

"Green's good," she grinned. "It matches certain…_things_."

"I like my green things unmatched, thank you;" I pushed the thing away from me. "Besides, I wouldn't even know how to put it on. Half of these things need to come with directions."

"You don't need directions."

"It looks like it'd be uncomfortable. "

She sniffed. "If you keep it on long enough for it to be uncomfortable, then you're doing it wrong."

"At these prices you should be able to wear this stuff for months at a time."

"I guess you're right," she said, shoving the thing back amongst a mass of purple lace and satin; it clashed merrily. "It is a little _advanced_ for him."

_Hey!_

"He's brilliant – he could figure that out in no time."

_Damn it!_

Walked into that one.

"So you're going to get it?" She grabbed it back out.

"Absolutely not," I took it away from her and shoved it back onto the rack. "And stop trying to bully me into buying something. Just pick out some ridiculous naughty nightie so we can leave."

"Naughty nightie," she said, laughing. "Language, Cadet, language."

_It'll all be over soon._

"So, I need something provocative and unexpected for my date with Calvin," she said.

"That first little number was pretty unexpected."

"No, black is never unexpected. I was thinking yellow."

"Yellow? Is yellow _really_ your color?"

_I can't believe I'm having this conversation._

"Good point. I want to look my best." She riffled through a rack, then moved to another. "Ny, I've been thinking about something."

Let me guess: Her sex life; my sex life; the opening duet of Act Three of _The Vulcan Gets Lucky_.

"What?"

"I was thinking of giving monogamy a try. You know, now that you and your guy are all couple-y and mind meld-y – what with the boring sex and the little things."

"We are not 'all couple-y,' the sex is beyond good, and _things _are of an ample size – a more than ample size. Do you even know what monogamy means?"

"Of course I know what it means."

"I don't think you do. It means one partner. Period. Not one partner a night, or even at a time, but one partner for the length of the relationship – which is usually longer than a weekend."

"I know that, Ny. Seeing you all happy makes me want to try flannel nightgowns and monogamy." She pulled out a red and white striped floor length negligee.

"Really?"

"Maybe."

I took the nightgown away from her, "Absolutely not. This'll make you look like Christmas." I returned it to the rack and gave into the process.

I started sorting through the racks, trying very hard not to think too much about what I was touching.

"So, is there anyone in particular you're thinking of trying this great experiment with?"

No red, no green, no yellow, no black; my color choices were dwindling rapidly.

"There are a few candidates," she replied.

"Okay, let's go back to the definition of monogamy again."

My fingers snagged in straps, and I looked at what I'd tangled myself in. It was a white nightgown. I pulled it off the rack. It was made of satin, and the material slid like cool water over my fingers. I held it up - it would reach to just above my knees, _and_ adequately cover my cleavage. And, there was a bow - a sweet, little bow right at the waist.

_Oh._

"No white. No knee-length. No covering up of the cleavage," Gaila, said, trying to shove it out of my hands.

"I wasn't thinking of this for you," I protested.

Her hands fell to her side, and her mouth fell open. "Are you going to buy lingerie?"

"This is nice. It's pretty, simple and demure."

"Yes, yes it is." She began dragging me toward the payment desk. "It's perfect."

"What about you and Calvin?" I asked, trying to stop the momentum. "What about the need for something unexpected?"

"I'll figure something out," she said, pushing me against the desk and slamming down the nightgown. "Buy this before you talk yourself out of it."

"I hadn't talked myself _into_ it," I said, running my fingers across the bow.

_It's not a uniform; it's not a Gaila dress._

"She's buying it," Gaila announced to the clerk.

_It's me._

I slipped out my credit chit.

_I can always return it._

I looked at it again. It really was special.

_Or not._


	8. Little Things

Many, many thanks to the best support group a writer running on empty could ever ask for: miss steph, T'Leba, Doc Spleenmeister, Tales from the Spock Side, and Kalenel.

Thanks also to bluehorserunning who so cheerfully translated the Vulcan for me.

Eternal gratitude for all of you who came along with me on this ride - letting me know through reviews and messages that my stories have made you laugh, smile and/or spit various liquids onto your monitors/keyboards/loved ones. You truly kept me going!

And thanks to the Internet - from which I stole the Latin and the definition for "bewitched." Internet, you rock!!!

**Disclaimers and Warnings in Part One.**

~**Part Eight of Eight:** _Little Things_~

Our relationship is a mosaic of little moments that make us laugh with joy, make us cry with pure emotion, and make our souls take flight. The best moments are the ones that let us do all three simultaneously.

* * *

I let myself into Spock's quarters with the access code he'd given me. It was an inordinately exciting moment.

I was so overcome by the importance of the occasion that it took me a full thirty seconds to realize that Spock was not waiting for me in the living room.

_Huh._

"Hello?"

_Maybe he's in the bedroom, all naked and oiled up, just waiting for me to arrive._

"I am in the kitchen, Nyota."

_Or maybe he's in the kitchen, not naked and not oiled up._

Dumping my overnight bag on the floor by the couch, I slipped out of my shoes and padded in to find him busily opening food containers and making tea.

It was almost as sexy as the nakedness and oiliness.

A wave of emotion crashed over me. It'd been a week since I'd seen him. I'd missed him.

Acutely.

Wordlessly, I padded over to him and leaned into his side, hugging him tightly. His hands stilled their movements. After several seconds, he brought his hands up to my arms. I closed my eyes and breathed him in deeply. He released me first.

I stepped back and looked at the takeout containers. "What're we having?"

"Indian cuisine," he replied, "I apologize that I am not prepared for your arrival. My department meeting ended ten point five minutes later than planned."

I kissed his cheek; he leaned into my lips. "As long as you're here, I don't care how late you are."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Nyota. May I ask you to set the table?" He indicated the small pile of plates and utensils on the corner of the counter.

I grabbed them up in answer.

The table was set, and I was sitting down when he arrived with a tray of delicious smelling food and spicy smelling tea - or was it the other way around? It didn't matter. I was hungry enough to eat a wing-slug.

He set the food and tea on the table, and sat down opposite of me.

"It looks amazing. Where'd you get it?" I asked as I scooped rice, lentils and a _masala dosa_ onto my plate and began to eat.

"There is a small restaurant near the Presidio which delivers food to campus. I find the food to be acceptable."

"It's delicious," I said. "Can you pass the _naan_?"

He pushed the plate towards me, and I looked at him properly.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"Watching you consume food is most fascinating."

I raised my eyebrows and stared at him.

"You eat with great relish," he elaborated as he ladled rice and lentils onto his plate and picked up his fork.

_Somehow, that doesn't sound like a good thing._

"I like food," I said.

"It is a common Human trait."

"Yes. A good one." I picked up a _samosa_ and bit into it. He very carefully did not look at my fingers.

"My mother also has a great love of food. She continually introduced my father and me to Terran cuisine."

"What'd your father do?" I asked, chewing slowly. The _samosa_ was really good.

"He bore it with great grace."

I snickered. "I've never had Vulcan food, but I do hear that it is."

His head came up and, with it, an eyebrow.

_Tread lightly, girl._

"Unique," I murmured.

"Vulcans believe that food should be used to meet the nutritional needs of the one who is consuming it. Adapting to the Human tradition of eating for pleasure was a particular challenge when I moved to Earth."

"And how did you manage that challenge?"

He ate a forkful of lentils and rice then replied. "I believe the proverb is _'__si fueris Romae, Romano vivito more; si fueris alibi, vivito sicut ibi.'"_

Not surprisingly, his Latin was impeccable.

"'If you were in Rome, live in the Roman way; if you are elsewhere, live as they do there.' St. Ambrose. Didn't think I knew Latin, did ya?" I challenged playfully while I scooped the rice and lentil mixture onto the _naan_.

"I endeavor to never underestimate you, Nyota."

I grinned at him. "You're a pretty smart guy, do you know that?"

"I am aware of that fact. However, I believe that you are referring to something other than my intellectual capabilities."

"A smart man is one who lets the woman have the last word."

"My father often espoused that particular philosophy."

"Then he is very smart, too. And he raised a brilliant son."

Both his eyebrows flew up to his bangs, and he ate in silence for several minutes. I was able to finish the _samosa _and plow through most of the _masala dosa_ before he spoke again.

"I believe that I am expected to ask about your day."

"Expected by whom?" I questioned, trying not to choke on the food I was chewing.

"I believe that asking such a question is an integral component of Human courtship rituals." He ate for a moment then said, "Do you wish to discuss your day?"

_Sure. Of course. It was just a typical day in the life of Nyota Uhura. _

_While painting my toenails bright red - because red is "sexy, sexy, sexy" - my Orion roommate came up with the final aria of Act Two of the opera she's writing about yours and my love life. Then I spent thirty minutes coming up with ways to kidnap you off to some exotic locale, so I can avoid the test in geometry I have on Monday - a test I'm pretty sure I _won't_ get an "A" on. Then Gaila made me go lingerie shopping. After four hours, she bought something that she calls a nightie, but that is comprised entirely of three ribbons. Three_ small_ ribbons. And I didn't get to finish _any_ of my homework._

"It was just a typical Friday," I said. "Classes in the morning and studying in the afternoon."

He inclined his head, which meant he wanted me to continue.

"I have a test on Monday."

"In which class?"

"Subspace Geometry," I sighed. "Which I hate." Suddenly, I had a lot to say.

I liked being able to complain to someone other than Gaila.

"I don't understand why communications majors need to take both intro and advanced - I'm dreading next year, by the way - that's what engineers are for. I don't see the point of it all."

Spock cleared his throat and took a deep breath; his chest expanded in an indecently attractive manner.

_Don't drool, don't drool, don't drool._

"The mathematics of spatial relations has numerous practical applications in space and on a starship. For example: deflector geometry, hull geometry."

Oh, God! It was just like chess all over again.

I interrupted him before he recited the entire textbook to me. "I _know_ the point of it; I just don't _see_ the point of it."

"That statement is illogical."

"Not to a Human," I replied. "Just because I can understand the intellectual necessity of learning all about the mathematics of hulls and shields doesn't mean I can emotionally accept that I have to learn it. Besides, I don't see myself ever using it in my work."

He stared at me for a moment; I could almost hear him processing my argument. "I believe I can see your point."

_Score one for Uhura, Cadet!_

I grinned in triumph.

"I do not agree with it, however."

_So close._

"And I thought I'd finally convinced you of something," I sighed.

He regarded me for several seconds. "You are a most persuasive individual, Nyota. Do not doubt that."

I held his gaze. My heart rate began accelerating, and my limbs began to feel as if they were melting.

He blinked then looked down at his meal. "Are you prepared for your examination?"

_Hey! How about we talk about how I can persuade you to do naughty things to my person._

"I will be. The rest of this weekend is going to be all geometry, all the time."

_On a totally unrelated note, can I borrow your brain for a few hours on Monday?_

"If you wish, I could help you prepare."

I smiled at him, a wave of adoration breaking over me. "Thank you, and I mean that, however I don't want to put you in a awkward position so I'm going to decline."

His eyebrow broke all previous records reaching his bangs.

"It would create a strange dynamic, Spock," I hastened to add. "You're not my teacher anymore, and I want to make sure that line never gets crossed again. I don't mind talking to you about general school related things but not my work in my classes. I don't want this," I waved my hand between the two of us, "to be just a continuation of school. I want it to be about us."

"But you are a student," he said. "And I am an instructor."

"No, I'm a woman, who is also a student, and you are a man, who is also a teacher. Those are our jobs; they are not who we are. Sometimes we _all_ need a break from our jobs."

He took a breath.

"I know, I know," I said, guessing at what that breath meant. "You don't agree with me."

"No. I was going to say that I am able to acknowledge the fact that Humans do need respite from the rigor of academic instruction."

"And Vulcans?" I prompted.

"We are not without somewhat similar needs."

"Good," I said, taking a bite of rice. "So, we won't be studying tonight."

"No. I wish to discuss the most recent article by Dr. Andrea Chinn."

What were the odds that Dr. Andrea Chinn was the 23rd Century's answer to Dr. Flenderson?

_Pretty damn low._

"What's the title of the article?" I asked, almost certain that it wasn't 'Vulcan/Human Love: You Can Do It!'

"'The Practical Applications of Andorian Acoustical Advances in Minimizing Subspace Sound Distortions.'"

_Baby steps, Nyota. Little, teeny, tiny baby steps._

"Spock, is that article in any way related to school, academia, or Starfleet Academy?"

He chewed methodically while he thought it over.

"A discussion of Dr. Chinn's article would not meet your need for respite," he said after he swallowed.

"No, it most certainly would not."

"So what do you wish to do instead?"

_Naked tapioca wrestling? Naked Twister? Naked 3D chess? Naked nakedness?_

"We'll figure something out," I said, my mind careening amongst the scintillating possibilities. "There are lots of things that have nothing to do with geometry, spaceships, or Starfleet Academy. I feel like doing something mindless; we haven't really had the chance to do that."

_And pantless. I really want to do something pantless._

"We did watch the movie you wanted to watch," he said, deftly cutting a piece of _samosa _and popping it into his mouth.

_Did he just tease me?_

"_They Live_ is not mindless. It is a searing, yet humorous, exploration of the rampant materialism of late-Twentieth Century Earth."

"Quite."

_Yes, yes he did._

I narrowed my eyes at him; he remained completely unaffected by my ire.

It was completely disarming.

_Time to move on to the pantless portion of the evening._

"Wow!" I said, yawning hugely. "I'm tired. How about you? Are you getting tired?"

"I will not require sleep for several more days, Nyota."

Okay. Brilliant Vulcan doesn't equal good at reading social cues.

"But I do require sleep - and pretty darn soon, too." I stretched, making sure to curve my back away from my chair, therefore, thrusting my chest towards him.

His eyes fell to watch my movements.

"You wish to retire for the evening?" he asked.

_Five points for not asking if my back hurt and twenty for getting, on some level, that I'm trying to seduce you._

"Sure," I said eagerly, jumping up and starting to stack the dishes. "I'll clean up."

"I can clean," he protested.

"No, you got dinner together, so it's only fair that I have clean-up duty. You can get ready for bed."

He blinked. "I apologize, but I must send several short messages to Commanders Bryce and Quezada regarding next year's Xenobiology syllabi."

"Not a problem," I reassured him halfway to the kitchen.

"Nyota?"

"Work," I said, flapping my hands at him.

"Very well," he said after several seconds.

_He's probably worried I'll drip on the floor._

Only I could end up with both a lover and a best friend with obsessions with cleanliness.

His kitchen was pristine, so storing away the leftovers and cleaning the plates and utensils took no time at all. He was still typing away on his PADD when I emerged.

"I'm going to get ready for bed."

He nodded. "I will join you shortly."

"Very shortly?" I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

He picked his head up and stared at me for a moment. "Yes. Very shortly."

"Good." I grabbed my bag from the floor and headed to the bathroom. Once there, I preformed the traditional ablutions and donned the negligee.

_God help him if he asks me what happened to my usual pajamas._

In his room I tried to decide what position would show the nightie - and me - to the best advantage.

_Flat on my back, my hair spread across the pillows, feet crossed at the ankles, and my belly? No. At my sides? Definitely not. Above my head?_

_That has possibility._

_But if I'm on my back, I can't really see his reaction when he walks in._

_This is so complicated!_

_Okay, okay, pull it together._

_I could be standing at the foot of the bed._

_No. Not standing._

_Nor walking, nor sitting._

_Lingerie is for reclining._

_I'll recline on my side, one arm above my head, the other following the curve of my waist and hip._

_Perfect!_

Arranging myself was easy. Waiting was more difficult. Time seemed to drag while I waited, posed alluringly.

Two minutes later, I heard the bathroom door slide open then shut. Three minutes after that, it slid open and shut again.

He walked soundlessly - but I knew that it was only ten steps from the bathroom to his bedroom. It only took seconds to traverse.

He walked in, saw me, stumbled, and stopped. He took a very deep breath as his eyes roamed over me - taking me in from head to toe. His eyes snapped to mine.

"That is a most intriguing choice of apparel."

"Just a little something I thought you might find fascinating," I said.

"Yes. It is most fascinating," he murmured.

I propped myself up on an elbow; he stayed frozen.

"You can join me," I pointed out.

"In a moment," he replied, his eyes moving restlessly over me.

Finally, he nodded and took a step to the bed.

"Uhm, Spock?"

He stopped. "Yes, Nyota."

"Maybe you could take those off." I waved my hand towards his t-shirt and shorts. "Might make things easier later."

He looked meaningfully at the negligee.

I understood instantly.

"I can leave this on."

"That would be most agreeable," he replied, disrobing quickly.

_My own naughty Vulcan._

He sat on the bed beside me and, with his super Vulcan strength and force of will, maneuvered me onto his lap.

I may have helped.

It took several seconds of maneuvering - and then several seconds more because the first few had been fun - to get positioned comfortably. My knees bent beside his hips, the satin bunched in soft pleats that rubbed deliciously against his belly and mine, my ass resting right at the top of the apex of his thighs where something intriguing began to harden behind me.

Spock, however, didn't seem to notice any of it. Rather, he ran his fingertips across the fine straps at my shoulders. "This is lingerie; its purpose is to excite and entice," he said, almost as if he were identifying some exotic plant.

"Is it serving its purpose, Commander?"

"Quite admirably," he replied, his fingers tracing the material as it dipped between my breasts then back up again.

I covered his fingers with my own and pressed his fingers more firmly against my skin. We watched with fascination as our fingers touched skin and satin. His head came up, and he caught my gaze. His eyes were heated, dark with arousal.

I breathed his name then captured his lips with mine. I could feel his fingers twist into the fabric at my sides then straighten.

My fingers found his ears, tracing them endlessly. His knuckles found my spine, descending along the column, shifting the satin against my skin. I whimpered into his mouth. He repeated the caresses on the sides of my torso, then from my belly to my neck, catching my nipples with his thumbs as he journeyed up and down, up and down. In answer, I delved deeper into his mouth, deepening the strokes at the tips of his ears, as I followed the whorls, and touched the lobes. His thumbs pressed against the hard nubs of flesh, and I groaned into his mouth.

"Okay," I said, ripping my mouth away from his. "You win."

"It was not a contest," he said softly.

"No, but you still win. My sensitive parts are more sensitive than yours."

"Your sensitive parts? Please elaborate."

"The parts that really, really appreciate when you touch them."

"Ah, those parts," he said. "I am well acquainted with those parts. Such as this one." He brushed his lips over the exact spot on my neck that turned my brain off.

"Grlg!" I said, rocking back and forth on his abdomen.

"Or here." He brushed his fingers over the hollow of my throat.

My breath rushed out in a gasp.

"Or this one." He cupped the underside of my left breast, moving his fingertips across the sensitive skin.

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Or here." He rubbed his fingers across the swollen area between my legs. "Touching them allows me to bring you pleasure."

"You're right," I conceded. "It's all for the greater good." I leaned into his lips, devouring them.

His hands migrated to my face, first cupping my jaw then fluttering across my face. There wasn't a discernable pattern, but I knew what he wanted.

"Go ahead," I whispered against his lips.

"Are you quite certain?"

I nodded, and his fingers pressed - _almost eagerly_ - against my face.

"Our minds - one and together."

_All of us - one and together._

I could feel him enter my mind, much less cautiously than the first time.

_Thank you, Nyota._

_I told you I didn't mind doing this_, I pointed out.

_Ah_, he said. Then he showed me what he was really thanking me for.

Cinnamon skin against white satin.

_I appreciate you providing me with such arresting visual stimuli._

_You really need to work on your bedroom talk._

_But it is true_, he protested.

_It's not what you say, but _how_ you say it, _I clarified._ For example, you could say that I'm beautiful and breathtaking, that I've bewitched you._

There was a rushing silence for a moment as he processed my statement - as he filtered through his language banks - finding words and definitions.

_Bewitched. To charm; to fascinate; to please to such a degree as to take away the power of resistance; to enchant. Yes. That is not an entirely inaccurate descriptor._

I sighed. _Just say it, Spock. No one else will know. It's just you and me in here. _

There was a moment of silence then his voice came again, softer - hesitant._ I will show you how you have affected me._

He let his reactions flood through me. The excitement, the pleasure, the anticipation of what was to come followed by the rush of blood that hardened flesh, not softened it - the desire to possess, to take, to invade.

All desire for words were erased by the force of what he'd shared with me.

_Oh, God! Is this what you feel every time?_ I asked.

_Yes_, he replied.

_It's powerful._

_It is. As is this._

He let his admiration and love wash over me.

It was too bright, too warm. Too immense.

_Can we stop?_ I asked.

_Of course._

He withdrew. I pressed my forehead against his. The residual emotion still coursed through me: excitement - masculine and foreign; love - enormous and intense.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not sure if it was for ending the meld or for the fact that my feelings weren't as bright or warm or _large_ as his.

_Yet._

"You said you would not apologize for being Human," he said, pressing gentle kisses into my temples, along my cheekbones - where his fingers had just been. "I do not wish for you to do so."

I took a deep breath, surprised to find that my heart was racing. "I love you," I said, almost defensively.

I wondered if he was still in my head. Almost hoped that he was, so he could see the proof that was there.

"You have informed me of that several times," he said.

"I mean it."

"I believe you," he said.

I shifted, feeling rigid flesh pressing into the curve of my behind. "Guess you do," I said, slipping the satin against him.

He groaned, and his eyes slid closed. His fingers slipped down and tangled in the straps.

"Do you want me?" I asked, even though I had ample evidence that he did.

His breath came in short and shallow gasps.

"_Glazha'uh na'nash-veh. Ri ikap'uh bezhun_," I said, continuing to brush against him.

I wanted him to look at me. Needed to see his eyes.

He opened his eyes even though it was a struggle for him.

"_Ri dungi. Aitlu gla-tor du," _he replied.

He wanted to see me, too.

I smiled at him, and then he was positioning me, rushing up as he pushed me down, so I was taking him in one endless stroke. My breath rushed out in a gasp.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"Not even a little bit," I said, pulling our mouths together, so I could kiss him, proving to him with my ardor that I was the exact opposite of hurt.

Placated, he began to move his hips, driving me, driving himself.

_"T'du_," I said, moving in concert with him. "_T'du."_

_Yours._

_"T'nash-veh_," he confirmed.

_You are mine_

I threw my hips down at him, desperate for more - more heat, more friction, more him until it was almost too much again - too hot, too wet, too big, too hard, too deep - and in that second where pleasure morphed into pain, the universe righted itself and sent me soaring into ecstasy.

I was vaguely aware of his roaring my name as I collapsed forward onto his heaving body.

We breathed in heaving gasps together; my eyes were tightly closed, so I could feel each prickle of pleasure, each rush of heated blood course through my body.

"Nyota?" His voice was gentle again, despite the shakiness.

"I'm alive," I announced, sliding myself off of him. His fingers tightened on my hips, and I wondered if he missed being inside me as much as I missed having him there.

I slid my body down, so I could rest my cheek over where his heart pounded. His fingers combed through my hair.

"And, I was able to stay awake. Did you notice that?" I pointed out proudly.

"I am acutely aware that you did not fall asleep after the meld."

"I'm getting better at it."

"Indeed."

I grinned and flopped my head back down, resting my ear over his heart - listening raptly to its movements; he was silent, his fingers gently moving through my hair, his breath slowing.

"I love you," I said, kissing his side, feeling his heart flutter beneath my lips.

Then he was pulling me up, his fingers urgent against my shoulders. I went willingly as he lowered me to my back, stared in my eyes a long moment, whispered my name, and pressed a kiss into the skin over my heart.

I swallowed over the lump in my throat as he settled his head against my heart. I began to stroke his dark and silky hair.

_It's getting warmer, brighter and larger all the time._

**~~The story continues in _Gifts _Are_ Important, Dumbass~~_**


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